


Stripped

by Wilde_Shade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/pseuds/Wilde_Shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan and Ford fight for bathroom dominance. It's... a sibling thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> After years of casually orbiting fandom from a comfortable distance, Gravity Falls had pulled me back in. It's gotten out of hand, so I'm here to dump the trash from my Stancest trash heap. Uploading this and several other fics all at once, (hopefully, the formatting survives transit) so this A/N will likely be copied and pasted a few times.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll keep adding these fics to my AO3, but they will be added to my tumblr side blog o' sin. Feel free to follow: http://sheepishandshamefaced.tumblr.com/

 

  
It was a lot like being a teenager again. Both of them had been heading for the bathroom. They caught each others’ eye from opposite ends of the hall. There was a beat before they both rushed for the open door. They got there at near enough the same time that there was a brief wrestling match in the doorway.

Stan argued that he’d spent the entire day on an inane adventure with the kids. It had involved homicidal golems and an elaborate cave system - Ford hadn’t even been there, the kids were finally in bed, and he just wanted to use his shower, dammit.

Ford argued that it wasn’t Stan’s shower to begin with.

That was… a fair point.

They both managed to shoulder their way inside at the same time, stumbling in, one hitting the sink, the other nearly taking the shower curtain off its rings. They were back to trying to wrestle one another out the door in seconds.

Yep. Just like old times.

Though, Stan didn’t remember Ford ever having the upper hand. Or there being this much aggression behind it. Damn, Ford was tougher than he remembered him being. Either that, or he was out of shape. Probably a bit of both.

But then Ford reached around him closed the door.

The sudden sound of it made Stan jump. His arms were pinned against his back, his knee braced against the door frame for leverage he suddenly didn’t need.

Ford let go of his brother’s arms and Stan turned to face him.

This was like being teenagers, too. Stan remembered that look - that kinda distant, thoughtful look. Some things didn’t change, not even when they should. Stan dropped his gaze to the floor.

Ford grabbed Stan by the lapels. He stood there for a few seconds, running his thumbs over them while that big brain of his thought something over. Finally, he gave Stan’s jacket a jerk. Instinct drove Stan to force Ford’s hands to be still with his own. A near crippling wave of loneliness and nostalgia made him do the rest.

It was hard to say who kissed who first. Stan’s money was on Ford. It was almost always Ford. At least, it had been when they were teenagers. Once upon a time it had just been innocent kid’s stuff. No friends and no adult supervision probably had a lot of kids doing stuff they shouldn’t have. The difference was, most of those kids grew up to be horrified by the memories the second they knew better.

Ford was too pragmatic for that. Stan wasn’t… But Ford made such a compelling argument. He was making a pretty good argument now, too. His stubble scratched Stan’s throat as he leaned in to kiss his neck. Stan took Ford’s own coat in his fists, pulling him closer. He’d never been able to say no before. After all that had happened, there was no way he’d be able to start now. Besides, if there was a Hell, he was definitely headed there already.

Stan pushed Ford’s trench coat off of his shoulders. Ford put his arms to the side, letting it drop around their feet. When he put his arms back down, his hands came between himself and his brother. He said nothing. He didn’t even look Stan in the eyes. His six fingered hands just deftly worked at the buttons on Stan’s jacket.

‘What are we doing?’ was what Stan wanted to ask but didn’t. He knew perfectly well what they were doing. It was a rhetorical question, a moral one. And Stan didn’t want to ask it, because he didn’t want it to stop. This was the closest he had felt to his brother since they were stupid high school kids sharing a room. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend no time had passed at all.

Stan pushed himself away from the wall so Ford could get his jacket off. The nerd actually folded it. He paused only to shoot Stan a look when his brother reached to unfasten his holster.

Stan shot Ford an unimpressed look of his own and went for it again. This time Ford let him. “What do you need a gun in the shower for anyway?”

“I’m sure I could name plenty of reasons.”

Stan didn’t challenge him to. He just set the gun carefully aside on the sink and got on with it - reaching for the hem of Ford’s turtleneck. He pushed it halfway up then stopped, forced to wait while Ford negotiated his own arms around Stan’s to work at more buttons - this time on his dress shirt. There was something about the detached almost clinical way he did it that was kind of a mixed bag of disgusted and aroused for Stan. Ford could probably rationalize just about any whim that struck him.

Stan sighed and dropped his head down on Ford’s shoulder. He splayed his fingers beneath the turtleneck, against skin that was warm and soft. Ford pushed his brother’s shirt back and down and Stan just stayed there, breathing in a scent he didn’t even remember forgetting. As bad as things were, at least Ford was alive and solid and here. It was stupidly easy to forget what a relief that was with all the bad still lingering between them.

Ford hooked a finger beneath one shoulder of Stan’s undershirt. Stan heard his brother take a deep breath and felt his fingers brush over the scar on his back. Ford muttered something to himself, sounding aggravated as he twisted and stretched the shirt aside for a better look.

“Hey.” Stan pulled back and took off his undershirt before Ford ruined it. He’d gone a decade without buying new ones. He wasn’t going to start splurging now. Not that this was an improvement. Stripping down in front of an old fuck buddy that was also your twin and clearly in better shape than you… There _was_ a Hell. _This_ was Hell.

Stan wrestled Ford’s turtleneck off of him before anything could be said. That proved a pretty useful diversion as Ford complained loudly, scrambling to recover his glasses after they were knocked off by the rising collar and summarily lost somewhere within the sweater part.

Ford hadn’t survived to old age without a few battle scars of his own. Stan touched one that looked like his side had been raked with the claws of something. The way Ford smiled and laid a hand on Stan’s made him think there was a decent story behind it.

There were probably all sorts of stories Stan didn’t know, come to think of it. At this point, they’d spent more of their lives apart than together.

Stan went down on his knees, unbuttoning Ford’s pants to distract _himself_ this time. There was nothing underneath the pants. Ford made some kinda excuse about underwear being in short supply where he had been. He didn’t get to finish. Stan yanked one of his boots and Ford was forced to sit down on their growing pile of clothes in order to get them off.

Stan kicked his shoes off and unbuttoned his own pants. Ford took it upon himself to help without actually helping. His hands slid over newly exposed skin, over Stan’s ass and the back of his thighs. He backed off only when they were both naked. He gave Stan a slow and appraising once over - after which he said nothing - only reached out and removed Stan’s glasses. Stan couldn’t have said why for sure. Maybe because he was trying to recognize him as the brother he remembered. All things considered, that was a very likely and depressing possibility.

But the moment passed. Ford pushed Stan back onto the pile of clothes, going down with him. He stretched out on top of him. He got close, then closer. He matched up hands and chests and mouths, finding the similarities and the differences. The edges between them had dissolved easier when they were teens. Now they felt more solid and defined by time and distance.

Ford shifted his weight onto his knees, pressing their hips together. They were both hard. Ford pressed down again, taking both of their cocks into one six fingered hand this time. And, God, it felt good. It felt familiar. Stan couldn’t stand it. His breath seethed through clenched teeth. He covered his face with his hands.

Ford pumped his hand, squeezing gently. He gasped. “Stanley,” he said, inflecting the word with just enough desperation to keep Stan from resisting.

Cursing, Stan propped himself up and reached down. He wrapped his hand around Ford’s hand and then around his cock. They jerked each other off with a practiced, relaxed kind of ease that really shouldn’t have been there. Ford closed his eyes. His mouth opened slightly. When they came it was at the same time.

And then it was over.

Both of their heads seemed to clear. As teens they’d laughed or fretted over whether mom and dad had heard. Now they sat in an even more awkward silence.

“You can use the shower,” Stan muttered, finally. “It’s your house.”

Ford looked like he was about to say something smart but thought better of it. “You go ahead,” he said. “Honestly, I just wanted in the bathroom to brush my teeth.”

“You fought me for the bathroom over brushing your teeth?! You know you could have just said-”

“It’s my house!”

Moment ruined. “Forget it.” Stan pulled his bathrobe off a peg and shrugged it on.

Ford gave an annoyed groan. Maybe over Stan or himself or the both of them. Stan didn’t stay and ask. He tied his robe, bundled up his clothes, and left for his room - the real kicker being that he wanted a shower now more than ever.


End file.
